DC al Coda

DC Al Coda

Transcript made and edited by jack

CWs: Discussion of parental death

(BEGIN DC al Coda.)

 

(A click, followed by jazzy music. It flicks through several channels, eventually landing on ‘Some Call It Madness’. The volume increases.)

 

(Arthur gasps awake.)

 

ARTHUR: Hello? 

 

JOHN (politely): Hello there, friend. 

 

ARTHUR: John?

 

JOHN: Arthur. (They both laugh wildly.) We’re here!

 

ARTHUR (overjoyed): Oh.

 

JOHN: Back in the office! (Arthur continues to laugh.) The window is open, a soft breeze gently glides over your desk, it’s like… it’s like we never left.

 

ARTHUR: True to his word. 

 

JOHN: A Nyarlathotep that keeps its word. Who would have thought? And the window is fixed. 

 

ARTHUR: Oh. I can smell the fresh… air, it feels… 

 

JOHN: It feels good. Your piano is still here. 

 

ARTHUR: And you know, I kind of feel like playing again.

 

JOHN: Well, I can imagine why.

 

ARTHUR: But first, I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time.

 

JOHN: Hey. After you. (Arthur sighs in satisfaction.)

 

ARTHUR: My old desk. Well, I suppose we’ll need a new sign on the door.

 

JOHN: It says ‘Arthur Lester, Private Investigator’.

 

ARTHUR: Well. We’ll want to add ‘John Doe’, won’t we?

 

JOHN: If your ego can take the hit.

 

ARTHUR: So long as my name’s still first.

 

JOHN: I don’t remember these on your desk.

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: There’s a glass bell jar with, uh…

 

ARTHUR: Oh?

 

JOHN: With a piece of a jawbone in it.

 

ARTHUR: A jawbone. (Sounds of glass.) 

 

JOHN: A twisted joke from the Manager? And there’s this. A small… piano. 

 

ARTHUR: A small piano?

 

JOHN: There, yeah. (Sounds of a gear turning. A melody starts to play.)

 

ARTHUR: Oh. Oh, it… it’s a music box.

 

JOHN: A music box. 

 

ARTHUR: I wonder who it’s from. 

 

JOHN: Well, turn it over.

 

ARTHUR: Huh.

 

JOHN: Well, it says… from Luna and Tom… and the patrons of the Waylay. The Blackstone. I suppose some of them survived. 

 

ARTHUR: Suppose they did. (He takes a deep breath.)

 

JOHN: Well. 

 

ARTHUR (let’s get started): Well! 

 

JOHN: There’s a letter here. From… from Daniel. 

 

ARTHUR: Daniel? Well, s-s… do you mind if we…? (Sounds of paper ripping.)

 

JOHN: Sure. It says:

‘Dear Arthur,

I’ve had the distinct pleasure over the past few weeks –’ (The voice shifts into Daniel’s. Sounds of writing throughout.)

 

DANIEL: ‘-of getting to know you. Not as the man I called ‘son’... nor husband to my daughter, nor father to my grandchild. But rather, through the eyes of a kindly priest named ‘Oscar’. Someone from whom claims you have given great purpose to. It is… difficult for me to admit that I am not the man I dreamt of being. Like many. I seem to have lost my way. Though, I am working to carve a new path and… in a way, I believe I have found a new purpose in life for myself. I am not a poet, like your father was. Nor am I the creative type, as you seem to be. But I think I now… finally… have begun to understand that poem you recommended me when we first met. Thank you, Arthur.’ (John’s voice joins in.) ‘And please… come visit again soon. Dad.’

 

(Arthur sighs.)

 

JOHN: Poem? 

 

ARTHUR: The first time I met him. I was a bit… under the microscope. I mentioned Bella and I bonded over a shared love of poetry, something he didn’t quite… grasp. And so, I recommended one of my favorites. 

 

JOHN: I can imagine which.

 

ARTHUR: No. No, not ‘Invictus’.

 

JOHN: No? Well, I’d love to hear it. (Sounds of shifting.)

 

ARTHUR: Now?

 

JOHN: Is there a better time?

 

ARTHUR: I suppose not. And I suppose… given everything that’s happened… it  feels strangely apt. 

 

JOHN: Please. Assuming you can remember it.

 

ARTHUR: By heart.

 

‘If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too   

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise.

 

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master   

If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim 

If you can meet with triumph and disaster

And treat those two imposters just the same

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools.

 

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

 

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,   

Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything in it,   

And—which is more—you'll be a man, my son!’

 

JOHN: It’s beautiful.

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, well, I… didn’t write this one, either. 

 

JOHN (good humoredly): I kind of figured. 

 

ARTHUR: Alright. (Sounds of shifting.) Well, selfishly… I think I’d love a bath, and maybe a meal.

 

JOHN: Well, if we’re being selfish… I’ve been waiting for a movie for quite a long time. It – (Sounds of a knob turning.) Arthur. Arthur, the door, someone is unlocking it! And it — (The door opens.)

 

UNKNOWN WOMAN (calmly): Oh good, you’re back. (A whimsical tune begins. Arthur tries to interrupt throughout.) Look. I don’t want to be getting your mail and watering your plants every time you go to New York to visit your friends or see Grandpa. I don’t mind lending a hand! It just… I’m tired of playing errand-girl, okay. (Soft thuds and shuffling paper. The clink of metal.)  You need a secretary. Someone you can actually pay to do this stuff.

 

ARTHUR: I…

 

UNKNOWN WOMAN: Do you want a cup of tea?

 

JOHN: I… 

 

UNKNOWN WOMAN: You look like you’ve seen a ghost. (Footsteps. Sound of running water.) Dad?

 

ARTHUR: Faroe?

 

(Rising whispers.)

 

FAROE (confused): What?

 

(A final click.)

 

(END DC al Coda.)